We’ve all read them—the stories that are technically perfect, polished within an inch of their lives, and completely forgettable. They tick every structural box, but they don’t sink their teeth into you. They don’t stay.
Because the best stories? They’re feral.
They’ve got dirt under their nails, burrs tangled in their hair, and an attitude problem. They don’t beg for approval. They don’t sit quietly with their hands folded. They breathe, bite, and demand to be felt.
Why “Perfect” Writing Falls Flat
Somewhere along the way, writers were taught that a good story needs to be pristine, perfectly structured, and meticulously edited. And while craft matters, there’s a fine line between refinement and sterilization.
Think about the books, films, and essays that have stayed with you long after you finished them. Were they the ones that followed every rule perfectly, or were they the ones that felt alive? The ones that left you a little shaken, a little wrecked? The ones that weren’t afraid to get their hands dirty?
Over-polished writing often lacks:
Genuine emotion – When you smooth out every raw edge, you lose the pulse of the story.
Surprise – When everything follows a predictable formula, there’s no room for those gut-punch moments that make a story unforgettable.
Authenticity – Real life is messy. Real people are messy. If your writing is too neat, it won’t feel real. It’ll feel like something built in a lab, safe and inoffensive, designed not to upset anyone—which is to say, designed to be ignored.
The Power of Emotional Messiness
A feral story doesn’t try to be likable. It doesn’t shape itself to be palatable for the widest audience possible. It tells the truth, even when it’s uncomfortable.
This is why books like The Catcher in the Rye or Beloved leave a lasting impact. Why TV shows like Fleabag resonate so deeply. These stories don’t just entertain; they crack something open. They aren’t afraid to make the audience sit in discomfort, to show characters making real, human mistakes.
When you allow imperfection into your storytelling, you invite real connection. Readers don’t fall in love with polished archetypes; they fall in love with flawed, unpredictable, emotionally raw characters.
How to Write a Feral Story
Let the first draft be wild. Write like no one is watching. Write like your laptop might catch fire from the sheer force of your creative chaos. Editing comes later.
Stop sanitizing your voice. If you sound like everyone else, why should anyone care? Keep your quirks, your weird turns of phrase, your unfiltered thoughts. Don’t write like an algorithm. Write like a slightly unhinged genius.
Make your characters uncomfortable. Growth happens through struggle. Let them fail, let them embarrass themselves, let them break and rebuild. If your characters don’t suffer at least a little, what are we even doing here?
Write the scene that scares you. The one that makes you hesitate because it’s too raw, too honest. The scene that makes you sweat when you write it? That’s the one that matters most.
Resist the urge to over-polish. Tighten where needed, but don’t smooth out the soul of the piece. If your story doesn’t have a few scars, is it even worth telling?
You can read the full piece in the portfolio section of my website. What’s the most feral story you’ve ever read (or written)? Drop a comment below. Let’s talk about the stories that bite back.
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